


Fatal Kiss

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus wants his lover Harry to quit the Auror Corps and live a bit longer. Harry isn't so sure. Harry makes a decision, but Severus, sick in the infirmary, misses his owl. By the time Severus figures it all out, Harry's sick too. It all ends with very hot sex. And WizardBears. But not together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatal Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veridari](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Veridari).



> The characters in this story are not mine. No money is being made from this story, which is presented for entertainment purposes only. WizardBears belong to Veridari, though I am sure she had created a reversible DracoBear...yet. This story was written in honor of Veridari's birthday in September, 2011 and was first published on my Insane Journal. Contains consensual bondage, spanking, hurt/comfort and explicit m/m sex.

**Part One: The Argument**

 

“It really isn’t as dangerous as you make it sound, Severus.” Harry paced back and forth in front of the desk. He looked at Severus, his eyes anxious. “We’re all well-trained. Our robes have the best imbued protections available in the wizarding world. Hell, we even have a special wing at St. Mungo’s with the best healers on-call at all times.”

“A wing you’ve been in twice this year,” retorted Severus. “And it’s only April.”

“Minor injuries,” said Harry.

“A compound fracture of the femur is minor? A fractured skull is minor?”

Harry didn’t even try to argue Severus’ point.

“You are being targeted,” said Severus. Try as he did to keep his voice even and measured, it still caught a bit as he spoke. “Because of who you are. I had hoped it would not be so but Harry, it’s getting worse, not better.

“I’m not being targeted any more than the other Aurors, Severus,” protested Harry.

“We’ve discussed this already,” said Severus. He rubbed his eyes. Why was he so tired? “Not only are you being targeted by criminals when you are sent out on assignment, but you are being sent out on assignments that are not appropriate for your level of experience. It’s a vicious circle, Harry.” Severus’ face showed the strain he was feeling. Harry was just not seeing his point. This was where the difference in their ages and in their experience showed the most. Harry was quick to accept his…ahh…leadership in the bedroom, but that acceptance didn’t bleed out into everyday life. “You are going to be badly hurt again or worse, killed. And I cannot live with that thought.” He rested his chin on his clasped hands and closed his eyes. Had a casual observer glimpsed the scene, they would have thought that he was praying.

“But it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, Severus. You know that. Please don’t take that away from me.” Harry had stopped pacing and stood now in front of Severus, hands on the desk, leaning in. “Don’t force me to choose.”

“Then you will have to find someone else—someone who can tolerate living on the edge. I cannot. Not anymore.”

“It’s my life,” muttered Harry, ignoring what sounded too much like an ultimatum from Severus.

Severus slowly stood up. “I want….” His voice faltered. “I want it to be our life. I want you to be here—not just tomorrow, but next year, and the next.”

“And I want the same, Severus,” said Harry, staring at Severus, taking in his lover’s unexpected raw admission. He dropped down into one of the chairs facing Severus’ desk. “It’s not like I want to die. The job is dangerous—I know that. But someone has to do it. Someone has to keep the world safe.”

“Someone else can do it, Harry.” Severus rubbed his temples. His head ached and this altercation with Harry wasn’t helping. He looked up at his lover. “Haven’t you done enough for the world already? Haven’t we both?”

Harry stared at him. His face, his striking face, had an indecipherable look on it. “It’s not all about that,” he protested. His voice, however, held a note of uncertainty.

“I cannot go on like this, Harry,” sighed Severus, rubbing at his temples again, trying to ease the growing headache. He reached across the desk and grasped Harry’s hand with both of his own. “I can’t continue to live with the worry, the stress of not knowing if you are safe at home or out on another foolhardy assignment, offering yourself up in exchange for a hostage… .”

“She was old, Severus. She was terrified. She—“

He paused, catching the look on Severus’ face. He dropped his head down into his hands.

“I cannot tolerate this type of life, not after coming so close to death myself and skirting the edge of disaster for so many years. Now that I have earned my rest and my freedom, I would like to enjoy it.” Severus spoke so quietly that Harry almost missed what he said next.

“I would like to enjoy it with you.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know if I can just quit, Severus.” He looked up. “I’m not a quitter. Maybe they’re just testing me…maybe it will get better.”

“Don’t be a fool, Harry,” said Severus. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. No matter that Harry loved him, or said he did. No matter that they were now prepared to take their year-long relationship out in the open. No matter that they had been discussing moving in together. Harry’s commitment to the wizarding world would always come first, misguided as it was.

“I’ll talk to my boss, Severus. But I can’t just quit. I can’t.”

“And I cannot go on like this.”

They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment.

“Go home, Harry. Decide what you want. I’m here if you want to discuss this again—if you are willing to consider another career where there is significantly less chance that I’ll be eulogizing you within a year.”

“And if I’m not?” Harry looked vaguely ill as he spoke. Severus understood. He remembered what it felt like to be 23 years old, feeling like you’re at the top of your game and invincible.

“Then have a good life, Harry.” His voice had a finality to it that made Harry’s heart tighten with something that could have been fear.

Harry stood up and walked around the desk, jerking Severus chair around until it faced him, then quickly straddling his lover’s legs and lowering himself onto Severus, staring him in the eye and placing a hand on either side of his face. He leaned in and kissed him, swiping his tongue along the seam of Severus’ lips, probing within. Severus’ arms came up around Harry, pulled the strong body more tightly against his own and deeped the kiss, tasting Harry, kissing him as if it were—as if it could be—their last kiss. Remembering his taste, his scent, the feel of those muscular thighs imprisoning his legs like steel bars, the calloused fingers carding through his hair.

Harry left the office a minute later, still feeling Severus’ kiss on his mouth.

It would nearly be the kiss of death.

 

 **Part Two: The Decision**

Harry began to see reason the next day. Had Severus somehow reached out and shaped the day’s events to make Harry see the light or was this some sort of cosmic joke, some type of hitherto unexplained divine intervention?

He was supposed to be on a week-long recovery leave after the hostage situation on Saturday. He hadn’t landed in St. Mungo’s, but he’d been knocked around quite a bit in the scuffle. The Prophet had gotten wind of the story, or Severus might never have known about it. And unfortunately, for once, they’d reported the incident pretty much as it had happened, without outright lies or excessive hyperbole. But on Tuesday morning, a day after he and Severus had met in Hogsmeade for dinner and had ended their evening back in Severus’ office, discussing his future—their future, he was called in to work. After what was clearly an orchestrated photo opportunity where he posed with various combinations of the woman he had rescued, her family, the family dog and the Minister of Magic, his supervisor called him into his office, sat Harry down and “promoted” him to chief hostage negotiator and strike team leader.

He was then led into the Minister of Magic’s office and instructed to analyze the wards on the Minister’s home. He Flooed to the Minister’s residence and while there was introduced to the Minister’s son, a young man a year younger than himself who had completed his education abroad during the war and who obviously shared Harry’s sexual preferences. Harry stayed for dinner at the Minister’s wife’s insistence. She cornered him in the hallway and asked if he was still seeing that former Death Eater, and even if Snape was innocent, wasn’t he a bit too old and too homely for the Boy Who Lived?

No, thought Harry. He’s perfect for me.

At dinner, the Minister announced that it would be grand to have Harry Potter as his personal bodyguard.

He ducked out right after the meal, turning down the son’s offer to come up to his room to see his Chocolate Frog Card collection.

Late Tuesday evening, after rehashing all the events of the day, Harry owled Severus. “I’ve come to a decision,” he wrote. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

Wednesday morning’s Prophet carried the announcement of Harry’s promotion along with the photos. The picture of Harry posed with the family pooch, a miniature poodle named Whizzer, animatedly licking Harry’s face, made Harry want to vomit.

He waited all day, hanging around his flat, but no owl ever came from Severus. The headache that had started behind his eyes and progressed to a throbbing ache was undoubtedly caused by stress and worry.

On Thursday morning, he determined that Severus must have seen The Prophet and must have arrived at the wrong conclusion regarding Harry’s decision. He owled Severus again, asking him to ignore everything he saw or read in The Prophet and to please meet with him so they could talk. “I want there to be a future for us,” he wrote. “I’m willing to compromise.”

He was pulling his hair out by Thursday evening when still no reply came. Getting up his nerve, he Floo-called Severus in his quarters. The living room was dark and eerily quiet. No one answered; no one acknowledged his head in the flames or his voice calling out to Severus. He had a bit of trouble breathing that evening, and a few coughing fits, but he attributed his weakness to the sooty floo and went to bed early.

He decided to take matters into his own hands and show up at Hogwarts on Friday. He would drag Severus off to Hogsmeade for dinner then he’d Apparate them back to his flat for some mind-blowing make-up sex, but only after he told Severus that he was leaving the MLE. He was considering private practice of some sort—perhaps a private investigator, or a private safety consultant. That had been Hermione’s idea, actually, but he thought it a good one. He’d gone to see Ron and Hermione on Wednesday evening and told them his decision. Hermione had thrown her arms around him and cried, telling him how worried she’d been, how they’d been using him over at the Ministry, how she was so afraid he was going to get himself killed. She was extremely emotional, but then again, she was expecting their first child and pregnant women seemed to ooze hormones and release rampaging emotions strong enough to trample one to death.

But when Friday came, Harry could hardly get out of bed. His head was pounding. His bones ached. His limbs felt heavy and cold. He forced himself to stand up and to stagger into the bathroom. A hot shower was not the solution. It felt good while he bathed but afterward left him even weaker and he sat on the cold tile floor of the shower with knees drawn up to his chest, sick and shaky, for ten minutes before summoning the energy to get up and get dressed. He stumbled into the galley kitchen, prepared and drank a cup of tea then fell back into bed.

He managed to get out of bed twice during the day to use the loo and force down some more fluids. He drank the orange juice directly out of the bottle.

In the middle of the night on Friday he struggled into the bathroom and nearly knocked the medicine cabinet off the wall in his search for something—anything—that would provide relief. He downed a Pepper-up potion and almost screamed as the pressure in his ears cleared. He dropped one headache remedy into the sink before managing to get half of a second down his throat. More orange juice. He left the bottle on the counter and somehow made it back to bed.

He had no idea of the time on Saturday when he felt so hot that he kicked off his bedclothes then stripped off his clothes and eventually rolled off the bed onto the carpeted floor then crawled into the kitchen where he lay, naked, on the tile floor. He was chilled to the bone when he woke up. He struggled to stand and when he succeeded, he only stayed upright by leaning against the counter. Vaguely, his mind told him he needed to get to the Floo to call for help. He hobbled into the living room but the sofa was between himself and the Floo and it looked so good, so soft and warm and inviting. He collapsed on it and pulled the small throw over his body and closed his eyes. He tried, for the minute or so when he had presence of mind, to catalog his hurts. Head? Throat? Eyes? Muscles? Chest? Legs? Arms? There was no use making a list. Everything hurt.

In his dreams that night and into the next day, if one could call the haunted, fleeting images dreams, Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a chair beside the couch gazing at him over half-moon spectacles. “You’re making a mess of your life, Harry,” he said in a sad, far-away voice before taking off his hat and pulling a rabbit out of it. He gave the rabbit to Harry and Harry tucked it under his head for a pillow. Later, little Teddy, his godson, all of five years old now, was bouncing on the couch, rainbow-colored hair sticking up like a clown’s wig. “Uncle Harry Uncle Harry Uncle Harry Uncle Harry Uncle Harry,” he called as he jumped up and down on the end of the couch. “Daddy’s dead Daddy’s dead Daddy’s dead Daddy’s dead…” He thought he saw Sirius’ face in the Floo and he knew he heard his mother’s voice, faint and soft, singing a lullabye to him, the notes and words echoing in the cold and empty room. Hush little Harry, we’re going in the car, Daddy’s gonna give you a lightning bolt scar.” He was so hot. So hot.

 

 **Part Three: The Egyptian Flu**

Severus trudged to the infirmary late Monday night, ready to admit defeat and let whatever it was that was threatening to overcome him have at it. He collapsed on a bed in the private room Poppy kept for faculty and staff and didn’t protest as the mediwitch first removed his boots and then began unbuttoning his robes. A quick assessment of his vitals, a few questions to verify his symptoms and then a potion, then another. He was asleep so soon he never saw the very worried look on the matron’s face and didn’t feel a thing when she took a blood sample.

He remembered only bits and pieces of the next two days. It wasn’t until Friday morning, when he sat up against the pillows Poppy had propped up for him, eating some broth and drinking watered-down apple juice through a straw, that he learned he had contracted the Egyptian flu. He had been kept well-sedated, warmed against the deadly chills and dosed with Dreamless Sleep to keep the nightmares that often accompanied this flu at bay.

He spent all day Friday in bed in the infirmary, and half the day on Saturday. He insisted on going back to his own quarters on Saturday afternoon but all he could do, once there, was crawl into bed and sleep some more. He ate what Poppy brought to him on Saturday evening then soaked in the tub for an hour and went immediately back to bed.

On Sunday morning, he ate breakfast in his quarters, feeling almost his normal self again, and read his post.

A letter from Harry. He smiled tightly, seeing the handwriting, hoping that the past week had given Harry time to think, time to put it all together. His stomach clenched a bit as he opened the letter. As much as he wanted to say he was prepared for a rejection, he was not. He wanted Harry. He would keep him. He had yet to play his trump card—Molly Weasley—who was as worried for Harry as he was.

Oh. Harry had proposed a meeting on Wednesday evening and Severus had not responded. He worried that Harry had taken that as a rejection. He sorted through the substantial stack of post—Headmasters received more of it than the ordinary person—and found a second letter. “I want there to be a future for us,” he read, smiling. A sudden frown. Harry had sent that letter on Thursday. Three days ago. What must he be thinking now? Did he even know Severus had been ill? There was no letter acknowledging that, or wishing him a quick recovery. No. If Harry had known, he’d have been at Severus’ bedside. Severus knew he would be, no matter that no one here knew of their relationship. That was just Harry. Severus was sure enough about that to bet his life on it.

Making a quick decision, he stood up and walked to the fireplace, tossed in the Floo Powder, spoke Harry’s address and thrust just his head into the magical flames. Harry’s flat appeared before him, silent and still.

“Harry!” he called when no one acknowledged his presence. His eyes moved over to the sofa and locked on the still form before him. He called again. Nothing. Once more. Harry’s hand—did it twitch? He couldn’t tell, couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Harry was on his stomach on the sofa, long hair covering most of his face.

Oh sweet Merlin! That last kiss! The flu! Severus pulled his head out of the fire and sent his Patronus to Poppy then grabbed his boots, kicked off his house shoes and hurriedly wedged the boots onto his cold feet. He was still wearing pajamas and a bathrobe and briefly considered changing but Poppy’s arrival, breathless, at his door, made him forget his attire entirely.

“The Egyptian Flu is contagious?” he asked.

“Extremely so,” she answered. “It has a three-day incubation. What is it Severus?”

“I have a friend…a lover,” he said. “We had dinner Monday evening, right before I became ill. He kissed me before he left.” He was reaching for the Floo powder now and talking rapidly. “I’ll bring him directly to the infirmary, Poppy. He seems to be unconscious. Meet us there—please.”

“But Severus! Perhaps St. Mungo’s would be better? This is a school! I would have put you in St. Mungo’s if I didn’t know you’d have my head for it!”

Severus tossed the Floo powder in and turned to Poppy.

“It’s Harry Potter, Poppy. Now go. I’ll have him there in a few minutes.”

Poppy’s mouth dropped open, just as he had expected it would. But he was gone before he saw her worried smile.

 

 **Part Four: The Cure**

Harry’s hand was clammy when Severus touched it. He rolled Harry over immediately, touching his face, checking for signs of life. A raspy intake of breath was enough. Severus rushed into the bedroom, grabbed the quilt from the floor next to the bed and hurried back to Harry. He was panting, not back to one hundred percent yet himself, but he wrapped Harry in the quilt and managed to drag him to the Floo, lowering him so that he was more or less upright in front of Severus. Severus kept his arm tightly around him as he used the other to both balance Harry and toss in the powder.

“Hogwarts Infirmary,” he called out as he dragged Harry into the flames with him.

Poppy had Pomona with her when the two men tumbled out into the infirmary, both landing on the floor. Severus’ arms were still holding Harry tightly and he struggled to catch his breath as he lay on the floor underneath the unconscious man. He let Poppy pry his hands off of Harry, felt her levitate Harry off of him and move him over to a nearby bed. Pomona knelt down next to him and helped him to a sitting position first, then upright and over to the bed opposite Harry’s. He collapsed on it, light-headed and panting, and rolled over on his side.

Severus watched quietly as Poppy worked on Harry, warming him first, hydrating him, assessing his vitals and then finally administering the antidote and a variety of potions, massaging his throat to force him to swallow bitter, medicinal liquids. When she was finished, she fetched a bowl of warm water and a flannel and began to wash the days of accumulated sweat and dirt off of him.

Severus could not bear to watch her. He stood and moved across the aisle between the beds, settling as gently as he could beside Harry.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching for the bowl. When Poppy did not immediately hand it to him, looking critically at the pale Headmaster instead, he added, “Please.” His voice had a desperate kind of supplication in it. Poppy handed him the bowl and took a step backward.

Severus dipped the cloth in the bowl, wrung it out then started on Harry’s face. He wiped the forehead, passed over the trademark scar, pushing Harry’s sweaty hair to the side, noting how lank and dull it lay against the pale skin. He wrung out the cloth again then wiped Harry’s eyes, pulling the cloth down to erase the tear tracks. He remembered Poppy telling him that this flu brought on dreams, pleasant and not so pleasant, and hoped that Harry had not suffered the torment of nightmares. He wiped his cheeks, his mouth, his chin, wrung out the cloth once more then wiped down his neck. The water in the bowl remained magically heated and he dipped the cloth in again, wrung it out, washed the sweat and dirt from his lover’s chest, his shoulders, arms.

“How is he?” he asked at last, placing the flannel back in the bowl and handing it to Poppy, who placed it on a bedside table.

“He’ll recover, Severus.” Her bright eyes moved from Severus to Harry, watched as Severus pulled the warm quilt up to Harry’s neck and tucked it around him. “It may be a fairly slow road back. He was severely dehydrated and chilled—approaching hypothermia. He still has some fluid in his lungs that I’ll have to clear again.”

“Can he be taken to my rooms?” asked Severus, looking around the infirmary.

“Why don’t we move his bed now to the private room and keep him here today, Severus? I can keep a closer eye on him that way and catch any trouble before it gets worse. If all is well, we can move him to your quarters this evening, after curfew.”

He consented, and followed Harry’s bed as Poppy scooted it along, hovering just above the floor, into the room where Severus himself had recently spent so much time.

“You need to get back to bed, Severus. Look at you!” said Poppy a few minutes later as Severus continued to hover.

Severus looked down at Harry then back at Poppy.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, the long-suffering matron.

“Fine. Just get in and get some sleep.”

She left the room and closed the door behind her.

Severus sat down on Harry’s bed and bent to remove his boots. He lined them up, side by side, at the foot of the bed then removed his bathrobe, draping it over the visitor’s chair in the corner. He was suddenly very glad he was still wearing his pajamas. He crawled into bed behind Harry, sidling up beside him then rolling him onto his side. He wrapped his arms around him and was asleep even before Poppy and Pomona began to giggle like schoolgirls just outside the door.

 

 **Part Five: The Fluff**

“That went amazingly well,” said Harry three weeks later. “You’d think they were anxious to get rid of me.” He shrugged and went directly to the refrigerator and got out the bottle of pumpkin juice. Severus slid two potions across the counter toward him and he downed them both then took several swallows of the juice.

“Heathen,” commented Severus, but with a fond smile.

“They didn’t even ask what I planned to do. Just accepted my resignation and wished me a happy life.”

“Do you think the eight front-page stories in The Daily Prophet about our relationship these last two weeks had anything to do with it?” asked Severus, rather casually, as he wiped the rim of the pumpkin juice jar and replaced it in the refrigerator.

“Do you think?” asked Harry, shrugging again. He grabbed an apple off the counter and made his way back to Severus’ sofa, sitting on it and taking off his boots.

“You need to take it easy,” cautioned Severus. “You’ve only been out of bed a week.”

“I still can’t believe you crawled in bed with me in front of Poppy,” said Harry. He shook his head then took a bite of the apple.

“I didn’t crawl in bed with you in front of her,” said Severus. “She was in the other room.” He eased himself down next to Harry. “So how do you feel?” he asked.

“Nearly myself again,” answered Harry. “I still get tired easily—“

“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Severus, interrupting. “How do you feel about leaving your job? About quitting the Aurors? I know you’ve been preparing for it—but how do you feel now that it’s done?”

“Good,” said Harry. He smiled, but it was a serious smile. A contemplative one. “It was enough to do it for you, but Hermione is over the moon and Molly—well, let’s just say she’s making you a Weasley jumper.”

“A Weasley jumper?”

Harry grinned. “Yeah. To welcome you into the family. Hand-knitted, pulls over your head. She likes to do them in your favorite color with some pattern worked in the front. I usually get a snitch or a dragon or something. I suggested a Teddy Bear for you.”

“A Teddy Bear?”

“OK, then. A WizardBear. A black one with a little cauldron on its tummy. And a scowl instead of a smile.”

“Hmmph,” said Severus. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“About what? The sweater? Dead serious. The WizardBear? It would be cute, wouldn’t it? In fact, now that I’m unemployed, I could start a whole new line of them—make them into stuffed animals. I’m sure Molly would help with them.” He got up and maneuvered himself so that he was straddling Severus’ lap, his arms around his lover’s neck. “Little Severus Bears with scowls and cauldrons. They can come with a stirring rod for discipline.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively and Severus leaned forward for a kiss. Harry pulled away a moment later, grinning. “There can be Harry Bears with a scar and vibrant green eyes behind stylish designer glasses. And Albus Bears with a long white beards that comes with braiding ribbons. And Weasley Bears! All red-haired and freckled and pretty much interchangeable! You buy a base model bear and add horn-rimmed glasses for Arthur or Percy. It can have a removable ear—pull it off and you’ve got George!”

“How would you make a Ginevra Bear?” teased Severus.

“I don’t know—give it big biceps and a broom?” suggested Harry. Severus grinned and pulled him in for another kiss, this time working his mouth down to Harry’s neck and laying down a line of kisses to his clavicle.

“I’d like to see a Draco Bear,” said Severus as he rested his head in the crook of Harry’s neck. He cupped his hands behind Harry’s arse and pulled him forward until their cocks were touching through the fabric of robes and trousers.

“You would, would you?” smirked Harry, kissing Severus’ nose. “We’d have to bleach the hell out of the fur to make that one.”

“You could design it so it becomes a ferret when you turn it inside out,” suggested Severus.

“Alright, now that we have my future career all sorted out, what next?” asked Harry. He moved his hands up along the sides of Severus’ head and kissed the corner of his mouth then the tip of his nose.

“I suppose you should go confer with Molly Weasley while I do Headmaster things,” sighed Severus. He pulled Harry toward him fractionally and thrust upward slightly.

“Headmaster things, huh?” said Harry. “Like…discipline?”

“Right, discipline,” breathed Severus. “I can use my…rod. He pushed one more time against Harry, each of them groaning at the intimate friction, then removed his hands from Harry’s delectable arse.

 

 **Part Six: The Discipline**

“Alright then, on your feet,” Severus commanded.

Harry lifted himself off of Severus’ lap and pushed backward, managing to nearly rub Severus’ face with his straining erection before he was standing.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, trying to look demure and penitent. It was a look that never quite worked on his face, but Severus appreciated the effort nonetheless.

“Where or how?” answered Severus, lifting one eyebrow.

“Um…either? Both?” answered Harry a bit hopefully.

“Naked, first of all,” answered Severus. He watched as Harry removed his clothing rather efficiently until he stood totally naked in front of him. The tattoo on his hip, the branch of holly with leaves and berries overlaid on a single golden phoenix feather, stood out more sharply now against his still pale skin.

“Closer,” instructed Severus. Harry stepped forward between Severus’ open knees and Severus reached out a hand and caressed Harry’s hip, running his hand over the tattoo, marveling as he always did at the stir of power he felt from this pseudo-wand.

“Robes back on,” he said then. Harry looked confused, but complied with the request, slipping the ordinary black robes he’d been wearing back on and leaving them open at the front. He stood up in front of Severus again, cock hard and prominent, the head sticking out through the robe’s opening. Severus reached forward quickly and grabbed it, using it as a handle to pull Harry forward again.

“Mind you,” he said as he positioned Harry over his knees, arse on his lap, cock trapped between his legs, “I will take into consideration that you’ve been ill….”

“Oh, I’m all better,” groaned Harry as Severus caressed his arse through the fabric of his robes.

“No lingering aches?” asked Severus.

“No,” groaned Harry as the flat of Severus hand came down hard on his right arse cheek. “Oooh.”

Severus caressed the right cheek in a gentle, circular motion with one hand. “No muscle spasms? No soreness?”

“No,” breathed Harry, knowing what was coming. A hand came down hard on his left cheek and he pushed down against Severus’ thighs. That cheek was being caressed when the next blow came. Hard enough to sting, to awaken the flesh, to make him grind down, his trapped cock tight between those powerful legs. Severus kept the blows focused on his buttocks, ten, fifteen, twenty of them while Harry ground down and groaned, enjoying the feeling of those hands on his arse, wishing Severus would lift his robes and direct the punishing slaps onto the bare flesh.

Finally, Severus began to gather up the fabric of his robes, to push it upward, baring legs then arse, leaving it gathered on his back while those hands now caressed and smoothed over his tingling cheeks then began an obsessive kneading.

“Can you tolerate the ropes today?” Severus’ voice was low and breathy. Harry could feel his lover’s hungry cock against his belly.

“God yes,” answered Harry as Severus hissed his pleasure.

“Get back there, then. Assume the position.”

 

 **Part Seven: The Very Naughty NC-17 Bit**

Thirty long minutes later, Harry was a frustrated, babbling mass of need, his cock leaking, his stomach smeared and glistening from the dripping organ. He didn’t know if Severus was a scout or a sailor in his previous life, and it didn’t matter as long as he never lost this obsession with rope and with knots. Ropes circled his wrists, the left tied back to the headboard allowing him almost no motion, but the right stretched straight out and secured to the chest of drawers beside them. If he pulled too hard or moved too much, the chest would rock, the crystal oil lamp on top of it would teeter and fall. He had been warned about that.

His lower half…he was in a clever position Severus had never before tried. His right ankle was bound to the footboard of the bed. He had been arranged low on the bed so that he had to bend his knee for the ankle to be secured, and he could not straighten it. Three pillows had been wedged beneath his hips, canting them up at an obscene angle. The left leg, however, was bound in an intricate lacing, calf to thigh, his heel wedged up almost to his buttock. The leg draped out and back with the angle of his hips, touching his bound arm. Severus had completed the package by lacing rope between each of his toes, creating a spider web of knots that bound his feet.

Harry was begging as Severus undressed. He forgot and pulled his arms. The lamp rocked a bit and Severus stared at it until it settled and looked warningly at Harry.

“We stop if it falls.”

Harry nodded fractionally.

“You need something else to concentrate on, don’t you?” Severus walked around to the night table near Harry’s bound left hand. Harry stilled, hearing the slide of the drawer.

“Do you want to see?” Severus’ voice was smooth and low.

“You decide,” said Harry, almost in a whisper.

Severus chuckled and a moment later, Harry’s eyes were obscured with a black blindfold, soft and tight.

Severus’ mouth descending on his left nipple and his hand coming up to pinch his right was the only tactile sensation he felt outside of the ever-present pressure of the ropes. All awareness was focused on his chest as that pulling need shot to his groin. Severus sucked hard, working the nub with suction and bites then moving to the other while Harry groaned and arched and twisted beneath him. Severus gave him no recovery time before he affixed the first clamp on the left nipple. The right followed and Harry hissed and pressed his back downward, easing himself through the shock of it. The clamps were tight but smooth. They compressed without biting, sending throbbing over-sensitized pulses to his unbound balls and cock. Eyes covered, he did not know what to expect next. Severus always varied the routine and it had been at least two months now since they’d had a “session.” The sessions were infrequent but intense. Severus always seemed to know when one of them needed one.

The sudden intrusion of an only lightly-lubed finger into his hole with no foreplay—assuming one would not call the half-hour of slow bondage foreplay—was almost enough to bring him over the edge. The cock ring that Severus slipped on and tightened almost immediately did not come as a surprise and was in fact a welcome relief from the constant struggle to hold back and wait...wait…for Severus to come first. The finger prodded him a bit roughly and then was joined by a thumb. Forefinger and thumb twisted, moved apart, wrenching him open more as the need pulled at him, the pulsing ache grew and he steadied his bound right arm with the last working piece of his mind and moaned out his pleasure.

He was startled more by the lips and tongue and teeth wrapping around his cock than by the only lightly lubed dildo that Severus began working in beside his finger and thumb. But something…something about that dildo seemed off. The removal of the thumb, the introduction of a second finger, this one with more lube, then a third, gave him his answer.

“That’s not a dildo,” he breathed, that last functioning part of his brain still working to keep his right arm immobile.

Severus gave a last firm suck to the head of Harry’s cock and let it slip from his mouth, trapping it between Harry’s stomach and his cheek.

“I promised you the rod, didn’t I?” he said, words hot and silky as they fell from his lips.

“Oh…fuck…Severus…which…?”

“The paddle, of course,” replied Severus, giving the instrument a slow turn. Harry’s semi-functioning mind suspected he’d inserted the wide stirring paddle handle first, but the handle itself was nearly as thick as Severus’ cock and was rigid and long, so very long. It was designed for use with the largest of the table-top cauldrons. He thought he recalled that it was rounded on the end, smoothed by years of use.

“That thing….is huge,” breathed Harry as Severus pushed in further, brushing past his prostate and nudging it hard. Harry jerked and heard the rattle of the crystal lamp. Unconsciously, he willed it still with a burst of wandless magic.

“Oh, none of that, Harry,” said Severus. He reached up and squeezed Harry’s nipple around the clamp. Harry hissed and stilled. Severus took Harry’s cock in his mouth again and swallowed it slowly, all the time working the stirring rod in deeper, twisting it slowly, working it back out then sliding it in, until Harry was babbling, panting, pushing up to meet each thrust, so beautifully restrained, so artfully bound that Severus soon abandoned the cock, eased out the stiff wooden dowel from Harry’s hungry arse and barely lined himself up before sliding in all the way to the hilt, resting his body against the rough ropes on Harry’s leg, grasping Harry’s thighs with his long-fingered hands, easing up and sliding out then pounding in again, pummeling the body beneath him as it jerked, as Harry moaned, as he strained and cursed when Severus moved one hand to his tight scrotum and caressed the sack, kneading it, grasping the balls and squeezing as he popped open the cock ring, pumped hard into the gorgeous, tight, clenching arse beneath him and came, pulsing deep and long while Harry erupted, while the crystal lamp shook and rattled, while Harry screamed obscenities mixed with platitudes and pushed his body into the mattress to still his own writhing. Severus collapsed on top of Harry and quickly removed the clamps, slowly laving each nipple gently with his tongue but allowing only moments of quiet lassitude before slipping out of Harry’s delightful arse. Harry panted on the bed, softening cock lying against his body, giving an occasional twitch, blindfold still in place. Severus considered the work of art displayed on his bed, his canvas, his marble and watched a trickle of sweat run down from the flat chest. His eyes came to rest on the wide stirring rod lying on the bed between Harry’s bound legs. He picked it up, twirled it once then, without warning or explanation, twisted it back up and inside Harry as the young man jerked, stifled a scream, as the crystal lamp finally fell.

Severus ignored the lamp and waiting a moment for Harry’s erratic heartbeat to calm, for his tense leg to drop back into a more relaxed position. He cast a cleaning charm followed by a warming charm on Harry then a quick Reparo at the lamp.

“I’d like to do that again,” he said softly as he stood then walked nearer to Harry’s head. He bent then and kissed his lover, working tongue into the willing, hungry mouth, moving lips over soft, dry lips. He sat down on the bed and caressed the restrained wrist near him, checking for chafing and running fingers lightly down the naked arm. “But I’ll need some recovery time, won’t I? Are you warm enough?”

Harry moved his shoulders slightly, nodded.

“Do you want the blindfold on or off?”

A pause. “On. Leave it on. “

Severus adjusted it slightly then stood and moved to the foot of the bed.

“As I said, I’ll need a bit of recovery time.” He reached down and grasped the paddle end of the rod and gave it a slight turn. Harry groaned and bucked. “We’ll just leave that there,” he said. “I’d like to have you ready for more when I come back.” He pushed the rod in deeper, another inch, two.

“Hold that there,” he said as he gave it a quick jerk from side to side. Harry clenched around it, singularly focused, cock already beginning to harden as Severus walked out the door.

“Git,” he muttered, focusing on holding the rod exactly where it was by almost rhythmic clenching. He wondered, vaguely, what his friends would say if they walked into the room right now, finding him blindfolded, bound, impaled, focused, waiting, waiting, as happy as he’d ever been before in his life.

“Fuck them,” he muttered out loud. He clenched around the rod and to distract himself until Severus returned, thought of WizardBears.

 _Fin._


End file.
